i haven’t been writing much about little sun lately, but not because i haven’t been thinking about him. the truth is i think about him constantly. his absence is a weeping wound that never heals. i just try to cover it….by roaming the miles and miles of small Paris neighborhoods, by filling my head with the pabulum of television and light internet reading, by drawing and drawing and drawing until my hand cramps and i see nothing but colors when i close my eyes. under that thin surface, though, i am crying out for him, my little lost boy. oh, god, do i miss him.
we’ve been cleared to ttc again, and i find myself inwardly freaking out. what if it doesn’t work? what if all i ever see again are bone white hpts and an empty space in the back seat of our car? what if it does work? what if i miscarry or there’s something wrong with the baby or my pre-eclampsia comes back worse or there’s a cord accident or the baby’s stillborn and worst of all…what if the same thing happens all over again? at nearly 41, i’m anything but the proverbial spring chicken….if i had feathers, i’d certainly be gracing someone’s dinner table by now. am i still even in this game? how am i going to get through all of this? i’m so fucking scared, and i don’t know how not to be.
so i draw and draw and read stupid shit and miss my little sun. and in between, i try to remind myself to breathe.
and, oh, yeah, tomorrow’s the final vote on gay marriage and adoption in the French National Assembly.